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"Dream! I got us a bicycle!"
The Corinthian's voice echoes through the clamour of billions, and Dream smiles when he hears. A million rooms float up around him, and he's in all of them at once, and then he's releasing them all and stands only in his and the Corinthian's own living room.
"Let's go, come on!"
The irrepressible nightmare is smacking the outside of the living room window to get his attention. He's looking lively today, flaxen and glinting with excitement. The lone vehicle perched upon their doorstep gleams alongside him, clearly newly painted, and just as dazzling in the afternoon light.
Dream looks lightly over the bicycle's well-honed frame.
"...You got the both of us one bicycle?"
The Corinthian straightens up carefully.
"Yes. I plan for you to just relax at the back, and for me to be the one pedaling us around, doing all the work like always."
Doing all the work like always - Dream has to hide a smile. The phrase lingers in the sun like a spell, mischief and devotion together, a plea - come on! I'll do the work; a goad (a cry for attention) - I'm always the one doing the work; a promise - I'll always do it. As long as you're here. Dream can think of many responses, but his creature is rattling with excitement, and he plays along.
"I'm not your girlfriend, Corinthian. You don't need to pedal me around on the back of a bicycle."
The silly thing turns pink, and starts lying immediately.
"That's not what I mean! I'm not thinking of that at all! And we're in the twenty-first century. That's not what it means anymore!"
Dream lets his gaze tick up to dark glasses.
"Oh it's not, is it?"
He may be eons old, but it's still fun watching his littlest squirm.
Eventually he says, "very well then. As you say. When shall we go bicycling?"
The nightmare, sputtering a moment ago, instantly lights up.
"Right now," he proclaims, afire with zeal already. He's been planning for weeks to show Dream off on the back of his bicycle, and he's chosen to do it on a sunny Saturday afternoon so everyone will see.
"How's this?" Dream asks, he's sitting side saddle on the back.
He'd chosen this position because -
the Corinthian turns around, clears his throat, and quickly looks ahead.
"Um yeah, whatever's comfortable," he blurts out.
"Then you may start pedalling, little one."
A kick, and they're off, and the Corinthian whoops as they sail out of their front yard.
His nightmare is strong, and they pick up speed quickly. The bike rattles slightly as they start hitting top speed, but it blends well with the whistle of the wind past his ears, and the sensation of his hair being whipped back to front over his face. There's nothing to the speed of the bicycle, of course, seasoned quantum traveller as he is, but it's still enjoyable.
"Let's stop for ice cream!" the nightmare shouts, some minutes later, and he doesn't even bother to disguise his pleasure at stopping in a crowded beach full of families and children and people in athleisure, who've started to stare.
The Corinthian holds the bike steady for Dream's preternaturally graceful side-saddle dismount, which is no less eye-catching than his sweltering black garb. A dozen curious gazes are already darting at him.
"Chocolate peppermint or raspberry swirl?"
"No thank you."
The nightmare's face falls so despondently that Dream sighs and reaches for the pink ice cream, which the Corinthian is secretly happy about.
He finishes his ice cream and gives the Corinthian the cone when it's done. It's visibly empty and already getting soggy at the top, but the Corinthian takes it happily and eats it up. Behind them, strangers mutter about the spoiled heartless boyfriend in black. Their hearts break further when the Corinthian has eaten the cone. They think he doesn't like wasting…
"Shall we take a walk?"
The Corinthian is thrilled when Dream asks. It means more time in public, and he gestures to the shore with a flourish.
They move down together, past surfers and sand castles and sun tanners. When they're at a good spot on the beach, framed by the waves and surrounded by onlookers, Dream decides to stage a scene of his own.
"My shoes," he announces, when a particularly energetic wave has washed up and touched his toe. "They're getting wet."
The Corinthian lurches beside him, already light headed.
Dream allows himself to be tugged a couple of steps up the beach, and there the Corinthian sinks to his knees. His hands ghost over his boots, looking for the ends of the laces, and when he finds them, it's murder to tug them loose through all their eyelets, and he has to do it twice, one on each.
But Dream hums when he's done, pleased, and when the Corinthian has helped Dream step out of them, he remains unmoving, head bowed. He feels everyone's gaze upon him, but he knows which one's Dream's - the one on the back of his neck, light and approving.
The moment passes, and then the Corinthian stands, and his grin is back in place. He's saying with a sparkle,
"Shall we get into the water?"
Dream has to laugh. His littlest one looks so hopeful. He sheds his coat, leisurely, under the Corinthian's appreciative gaze, and then his long sleeved shirt goes too.
They leap into the waves together, and go far enough from the shore, splashing and jumping onto each other, that people start to exclaim and huddle at the water's edge, watching anxiously. But they're sleek and strong, completely at ease in the currents, and when they emerge, sea water dripping off their black and white bermudas respectively, everyone forgets that they had gone in with pants.
The Corinthian dries Dream off in his long white coat. Dream sees repeated images of himself in an overly large coat, practically bouncing off the Corinthian. They turn quickly into images of himself in familiar cream sweaters that are too large for him, long sleeves hanging off his wrists; and then a light grey hoodie the Corinthian likes wearing on cool nights - really, his glee is approaching unnecessary levels -
Dream levels a bemused look at the nightmare, but it's obstructed by the collar of said white jacket, which sits almost halfway up his face.
"There, you're all done," the Corinthian says.
Then it's time to watch the sunset, of course, a couple's tradition. Dream sneaks in a basket of strawberries, which had been attached to the front of the bicycle "all along". The Corinthian does him one better by producing a bunch of wildflowers from his jacket, in full bloom and riotously colourful.
They start off sitting, and eventually end up with Dream's head on the Corinthian's folded up jacket, the Corinthian down beside him on one elbow. For all that the Corinthian had insisted on staying for this, he's not watching the sun, but Dream; Dream, Dream of the Endless in the setting sun, burnished to a brilliant red gold in the dying light.
The Corinthian clings, Dream feels it in the longing of his nightmare's stare, the intensity of his effort to sear him, this image, into memory.
Dream is swathed, in the sun's final moment of splendour, in a warm, glorious vermillion. Then the moon is back up, in a sea of black. Dream is himself again, onyx and ivory, feted by starlight.
"My lord," the Corinthian says, wretched and low. It's as if he's in the Dreaming again, a newborn unfolding to his feet, quaking under Dream's critical eye. No room for him to play the charming gallant there, or any other role, except what Dream commanded.
"It's alright," Dream says, and soothes the nightmare. He's not really in a lordly mood, after all this playing and indulging.
It's quite nice.
He kisses the Corinthian. Long and slow. Allows the Corinthian to roll them over and push him into the sand, whimpering sweetly into his mouth.
That's nice, too.
The ride back is nice as well, cool and quiet, and his hair is whipped front to back this time, which, on the whole, he prefers. He even lets himself snuggle a little into the Corinthian's broad back, and leans his head on one strong shoulder. The Corinthian melts into the handlebars, but he keeps going.
"Did you like it?" The Corinthian asks, once they're back in their front yard. "I think it was very nice, myself."
"Yes, it was very nice," Dream agrees amiably as he goes into the house. "We should do this more often. The next time we go to war, we shall share one dragon."
The Corinthian blanches.
"Wait - wait - I want my own - "